


Face to face, eyes to eyes (not knowing what to say)

by Kheodur



Category: Dragonlance - Margaret Weis & Tracy Hickman
Genre: Bromance, Canon Compliant, Drama, Gen, Opposites, Other, Something about mages and knights, The mages are too pretty and the knights don't know what to say, some kind of preslash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-12 10:02:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28883607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kheodur/pseuds/Kheodur
Summary: "Never look a wizard in the eyes. They will enchant you and take control of you." Mages and knights have never really gotten along, but something is constantly pulling them and pushing each other all of human history.
Relationships: Magius & Huma Dragonbane, Palin Majere & Steel Brightblade, Raistlin Majere & Sturm Brightblade
Comments: 1
Kudos: 8





	Face to face, eyes to eyes (not knowing what to say)

In the flickering light of the fire, Magius' golden hair was constantly changing color – now flaming like fox fur, now darkening to the color of noble bronze. Huma admired this game of darkness and light, even forgetting that he was going to sharpen his sword – he still did not give up his dream of becoming a knight, even though he understood that an illegitimate child would hardly be allowed into a noble order of knights. His friend was back in his spell book, moving his lips softly as he spoke the magic words – the sound of them sent a warm shiver through Huma, as if he could feel the power behind that soft voice – his lashes fluttering like butterfly wings.

Huma must have stared too long and too intently, because suddenly Magius lifted his head and looked at him with those impossible blue eyes. The knights often said that sorcerers were not worth associating with, that their powers were unnatural and against nature – Huma sometimes thought that they were simply afraid of falling under the spell of such clear, magical eyes.

"You're looking so hard. Did you see something interesting, my friend? " - There was a twinkle of amusement in his eyes. Huma blushed and mumbled something unintelligible, stroking his hand over his sprouting moustache, as if his friend was just enjoying embarrassing him.

"I-i... nothing, just watched" - Huma nervous gesture of rubbing the palm of your hand. Magius 'delicate, slender fingers wrapped around his arms – Huma shuddered at how soft Magius' skin felt against his rough calluses.

"Do your hands hurt?"

"Ah... no, not at all. Magius, I'll scratch you, let go, " - Huma seemed to blush even more, as he felt his ears burning. The young wizard gently shook his head and pressed Huma's hand to his cheek, and the future knight could barely contain a stifled cry. Watching his friend press his scarred hand so gently against his soft cheek, Huma just couldn't stay calm. He fidgeted, hoping that soon Magius would get bored with all this and let go of his hand, mocking him with a joke, but it didn't happen. Magius was still clinging to his arm like a cat seeking a caress, the firelight dancing on his face.

"You're so warm, Sir Huma," - Magius purred so softly that Huma hoped he was just imagining it, - " Warm and soft. A true knight of Light. "

A real Solamnic knight might have had words, but Huma couldn't even bring himself to say anything. Magius was kind and warm, a little haughty, but loyal – and when he spoke so lovingly of Huma, the future knight was speechless. It was always like this – suddenly, after the taunts and friendly banter, Magius would start saying such sweet things that once again revived hope inside Huma. He often doubted himself – what else could he do, weak and useless, in the Order of Light and Good. But as soon as his aspirations faded, his friend came and managed to revive the old fire in him with two words.

Now, in the light of the campfire, in the warmth of the campfire and the alien body, in the cold of the night, Huma needed to respond to his support and kindness with something. But there were no answers to this case in the Measure, and Huma did not know such words. So all he could do was keep quiet, look at Magius, and hope that he would understand anyway. Finally, Magius let go of his hand – Huma immediately tried to find a trace of resentment in his friend's eyes, but in the constant firelight, he couldn't read Magius ' mood.

And then, many years later, when he met his heart and soul, his Gwyneth, Huma finally understood what that feeling was, and waited for him to talk to Magius about it. They will find the lair of Darkness, the Light will return, and everything will be as it was before, and even better.

But when Magius falls in front of him – breathless, pale, white -Huma Dragonbane realizes that he is a lifetime too late.

***

Sturm acted as a true descendant of the knights of Solamnia should-he was noble, fair, fearless, honored the old, protected women, loved and honored his mother and father. Anna – his noble mother, had always been pleased with him. Of course, he had not grown up among his noble peers, but it was still safe in Solace – and the offspring of other noble families lived even here. As Kitiara's playmate, Uth-Matar-Sturm was proud of his friendship with her. Solamnians have to stick together.

Of course, Sturm had other friends – Kitiara's younger brother, though the son of a woodcutter, was a cheerful little boy who always loved to run after them. He will not be a knight – but a warrior is also a glorious thing. But his twin... no one liked him, Sturm was sure. Too frail and sickly, and the eyes are incomprehensible, as if the soul takes out. And when he went to the school of magic, Sturm gave up on him – it was immediately obvious that nothing good would come out of Raistlin. The family is not without a freak.

Their dislike had always been mutual – Sturm had no patience for the stealth and subterfuge that made up magic, and Raistlin had snapped back, angry and defiant. A true knight had no need for sorcery, an honest blade and faith break any spell – and so Sturm only endured Caramon's insufferable twin, hoping that one day the mighty brother would notice how dark Raistlin was inside. He is a creature of darkness in his own right, hiding from the light in dusty corners. And Sturm will be watching carefully as the gloom grows, so as to have time to stop any of his attempts.

The magician pretends to be a healer – Sturm never asks for his help, but he finds him himself, indicating his presence with sarcastic words. He's the one who bandages their wounds after training, always making fun of them with Caramon, the art of war. Raistlin is the one who does not let go of books, the one who hisses like a snake at any manifestation of love. Sturm doesn't understand this – and doesn't want to.

But in the Haven, it is Raistlin, not he, who speaks to a young mother who loses herself in grief and angry words – and speaks so tenderly that she does not seem to be herself. And it is Raistlin, not he, who is volunteering to bring down everything that is happening here - even Tanis, the good and just, does not want to participate in this. And it is the magician, not Sturm, who stands in the middle of the crowd, denouncing the deceitful sorceress - tall, thin as a ray of light, with dark strands spreading down his back and shoulders, the despicable wizard in the light of the braziers looks like a priest who has come to punish the false gods. Seeing him, Sturm even forgets for a moment that he should hate him.

And, perhaps trying to correct his inaction, he gets in the way of the priests when they lead the sorcerer to the stake. Raistlin has no face, and is painfully pale and quiet. But the eyes - those damned witch eyes, blue and deep -stare at Sturm as if he were Huma himself. And even though he can't stand the flow of stones afterward, Sturm still feels like he's a real knight.

And then it all ends – Belzor’s followers in the wind, and Raistlin is alive, though terrible, awful, painfully weak. He walks over to Sturm - Caramon is a few steps away, always caring - and looks him straight in the eye again. Solinari throws a glare on his face, hair, eyes - they are silvered. Sturm is lost again, as if bewitched - wizards can’t look into the eyes, they enchant and deprive the will. Tas mumbles something nearby, waving a burnt tail of hair, but Sturm can barely hear him, still trying to look away from the gleam of silver in the wizard's clear eyes.

"And I want to thank you, Sturm. What you did was brave. Reckless, but brave. "

It was so rare for Raistlin to thank anyone – and never had it sounded so sincere. And what can I tell him, why has there never been a similar page in the Measure? Now Raistlin looked different from what the Brightblade had known him – gone was the fox's squint and constant wariness, gone was that strange spark of contempt and superiority. Raistlin, the magician, the sorcerer, had saved the people from the false deity with his magic, stopped – even if only for a short time-the humiliation. And that was the tipping point – Sturm wanted to admit that he might have been wrong. That Raistlin wasn't as dark and mean as he'd thought. To tell him with shame that he had overheard Kitiara, a descendant of the noble Uth-Matar family, urging Caramon to leave Raistlin to die. Perhaps he'll apologize for his suspicions. To start everything right, or at least not to spoil what has arisen now.

But his stubborn blood, his proud upbringing, and his incomprehensible indecision raised his head again-or never lowered it.

"They had no right to execute you without a fair trial. They were wrong, and it was my duty to stop them. But still… I've thought it over seriously as we've been walking, and I insist that you turn yourself in to the Haven Sheriff. "

The Solinari closed the clouds – the silver disappeared from the eyes of others. Sturm didn't want to notice, but he saw Raistlin's eyes flash with resentment, and he pulled back and resumed his usual look – the grim, arrogant wizard who knew exactly who he would never trust.

Sturm didn't like wizards. He didn't like Raistlin – especially the new version of him, with those golden snake eyes and gray hair. He did not trust and openly criticized – as a real knight should. Only he wasn't a knight, and the wound was as wide and deep as a New Sea. Perhaps that was why he had attacked Raistlin – of the two of them, he was the only one who was real, though broken.

After the gods separated them, Sturm missed his friends – Derek wasn't the knight he was supposed to be. There was no Tanis, no Caramon - no one wanted to do anything, preferring to tug this unfortunate Dragon Orb like a trophy. Even in his heart of hearts, Sturm admitted that he missed Raistlin, too – at least the grim wizard acted without believing the words of reassurance, without allowing himself to rest. No matter how obnoxious the mage was, Sturm was sure of one thing – he would never submit to anyone for long. Defiance was in his blood.

Sturm had hoped to say the right thing this time, the next time they met, but a spear had pierced his chest. He really wasn't the new Huma.

***

Steel had heard that the gentle boy-mage Palin Majere had taken after his grandmother, the beautiful Rosamun, in appearance, and his mind had taken after his late uncle, Raistlin Majere. Next to his brothers, the wizard really looked different – elegant, tall, with green deer eyes and thick brown hair, naive and trembling. Mother Kitiara snorted and called him a wimp and a weakling – the patience of wizards and priests have it, according to rumors, was never. Sara might have liked him.

Steel didn't really know who he was. He was a Knight of the Dark, a Knight of the Lily, but his father is the same Sturm Brightblade, the hero of the War of the Spear. Perhaps at times he was aware of how Tanis-the half – elf-felt, but instead of being an elf and a human, there were other entities fighting within him. And when he couldn't stand their scuffling, Steele would go to Flair and climb on her back, so that he could forget about his struggle in flight. He was happy to be a warrior and a dragon rider – and that was enough.

Flare couldn't stand magicians – and she didn't use magic herself, snorting contemptuously. They didn't get along with Majere, but they seemed to tolerate each other – Steel respected the wizard for not giving up on the dragon's aura of terror. He was light from the color of his robe to the depths of his soul – but he had the right thoughts and the right words in his head. And therefore... Steel found the journey not so boring. Perhaps it was kinship. Perhaps it was the kinship-the legacy that Sturm Brightblade had left him, along with the Starjewel and his blade.

The only thing he didn't like was the boy's constant doubts. He was very young – Steele had heard that such young mages were not invited to the Trial at all – but he was always belittling himself, as if he was ashamed that he could not do more. And – to his own shame - Steel sometimes felt the same way.

At the night's rest, Flare was the first to fall asleep – she was full and happy. Palin stretched out his thin arms to the fire, gathering up the skirts of his mantle, which was as white as a mountain cap.

In fact, Steele didn't really understand the chivalrous dislike of mages – and there was a lot he didn't understand about Solamnians, and he didn't want to. The Solamnic knights were stuffy and stubborn sheep, and there was much to talk about with the young mage. Of course, he'd heard stories about wizards breaking their wills with just a look and a few harsh words, but he didn't really believe it. Just weak knights of Light looking for an excuse, trying to explain to themselves their weakness in front of pretty magicians.

Palin shivered and clutched his precious stick, his green eyes glittering like emerald stained glass. Steele admired the play of light for a moment and then sat down closer, opening his warm cloak to hide his cousin under it.

Everyone lies about that rumors - who can be enchanted with just eyes? Steel nods contentedly to himself, shifting the Starjewel slightly to one side, and lets the sleeping mage bury his head in his chest.

**Author's Note:**

> I love writing about magicians too much


End file.
